


Trust Exercise

by Daegaer



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Archangels, Business Trip, Demons, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents, Team Bonding, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: Michael would rather be anywhere but at a team building meeting.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 39





	Trust Exercise

Michael looked in alarm at the magnolia painted walls, the pale beige carpet, the cream coloured lampshades and the heavy off-white curtains. It was all a bit gaudy for her tastes. She still wasn't sure why a team building meeting had been called on earth of all places. The air made her skin itch. Probably because she wasn't used to having skin. She certainly wasn't used to meeting the _local customs of dress adhered to by the human natives_ as Gabriel's briefing had demanded. Apparently the local customs had demanded that _he_ outfit himself in yet another new set of human clothing. They'd all caught him smiling at his reflection in utter pleasure more than once. For her, though – she stared down at her feet in hatred. How did human women _stand_ in these things, let alone walk? For that matter, why did she have to wear human female-coded clothing? Uriel certainly wasn't. But then Uriel had taken one look at the skin-tight mini-skirt and boob-tube combo and Heaven had been treated to a rare look at what happened when archangels got snappy with each other. The words _spiritual beings not mammals_ not to mention _combat unready and extremely unflattering_ and finally, _go stuff yourself, Gabriel_ had been flung about. It had been a compelling argument. Michael waved a hand and was immediately dressed in a trouser suit and shoes with heels several inches lower than before. 

"You don't look like you're about to kill everything in a twenty mile radius any more," Uriel said. "He just can't stand others wearing a suit better, you do know that?"

"Is anyone else hot?" Raguel said before Michael could answer. "Do you think the ventilation system is working? Phew. It's so overheated I might have to –" he looked vaguely nauseous " – drink some water or something."

"Steady on," Uriel said in alarm, waving to attract other angels' attention. Raphael nodded and came over. "We can get you medical help before you do anything _that_ drastic."

A ventilation system, Michael mused. Was the mortal plane really so inefficient that the human beings needed artificial means to push the air around? She was sure that the design specifications had included words like tempests, typhoons, hurricanes, mighty storms moving upon the face of the Deep* and so on. Perhaps there was something just _wrong_ with hotels.

"Weren't these places dedicated to the Almighty at one point?" she whispered, hoping not to get Gabriel give his opinion of the matter. They all wanted to be out of there some time this century.

"You're thinking of the institution of the Hôtel-Dieu," Raphael murmured, looking up from pressing a cold compress to Raguel's forehead. "French hospitals for the poor. _This_ is a commercial establishment."

"Specializing in business conferences," Uriel sighed. "It's not very suitable for us, is it?"

"I think Gabriel got a good rate," Michael said. _Someone_ had to stick up for him. Even if he was addicted to reading management reference works written by the sort of human who inevitably ended up being got by Hell, and thought that _angels_ needed to learn to _build_ teams. Angels did what they were told, or they ended up in the basement. The mere threat of a shift in offices had worked for the last six thousand years.

All the others looked at her sceptically. She really didn't blame them. She walked off under the guise of examining the refreshments the hotel had insisted on providing. The liquid labeled _coffee_ smelled quite pleasant. The scent was more than enough; she was fairly sure that a couple of the accompanying angels down on guard duty had sampled it. They'd had to be pulled off the ceilings, wide-eyed and jittery. It might have some application as a combat-enhancement drug, but it was clearly too dangerous to indulge in casually, like a _human_.

She almost made the error of making eye-contact with Gabriel, who was standing at the head of the room, hands on hips, a look of utter frustration on his perfect, handsome face. Sandalphon _still_ hadn't managed to get the AV working, and was now blaming it on backwards earth-technology. Even the dimmest, lowest-choir angel could work out that he'd jammed the plug into the wall-socket upside down. Gabriel hadn't noticed yet, and was upping his "encouragement" to outright mockery. Michael quickly grabbed a brochure from the nearest table to study assiduously, and found herself reading about the hotel's options for breakfast. Finally Gabriel solved the whole technology problem by simply deciding the system would obey his every whim. The projector glowed with a soft white light and began screening a slide-show of Gabriel's best outfits through the millennia.

"Almost ready, people!" Sandalphon called. "Gabriel's worked out how to use this convoluted human machine!"

"It's not so hard when you know how to communicate," Gabriel said, smiling benevolently at them all.

The lower-ranked angels applauded politely. The archangels all clapped twice. Sandalphon beamed as Gabriel ignored him. It would be a terrible thing for an archangel to consider her dear brother and fellow worker an awful toady, Michael thought, idly wondering exactly how large a continental breakfast _was_. A terrible thing. She drifted back towards Uriel and the others.

"Oh, Gabriel, you're so big and strong and manly," Uriel muttered slyly.

"Yell at me some more, Gabriel, it'll loosen up your vocal cords," Raphael added, his eyes on Raguel.

"Don't make me laugh," Raguel moaned, "I still don't feel well."

Michael's mobile phone buzzed, which was odd, as practically everyone who had its number was in the room. She pulled it out. Huh. _Private Number_. Her eyes widened. Oh. Oh, _no_. She declined the call and shoved the phone back in her pocket. It started to buzz again.

"It really is warm in here. I'm going out for a minute to get some fresh air."

"Bring me back some!" Raguel said. "I heard a human say the air in here was recycled. I don't like it, even if it is very eco-conscious."

Michael looked at the screen and saw the slide was now reading _Trust Exercises for You and Your Squadron_. Not a moment to lose.

"Back soon!" she hissed in Gabriel's general direction and fled.

Half a mile away from the hotel she finally answered her phone.

" _What?_ I was in a meeting."

" _Yeah? Anything I should know about?_ "

"No. Unless you count an apparent inability in humans to function without coffee and biscuits."

" _Hold on – you're meeting on earth?_ "

"Yes," she groaned. "It's an all-department advance. It's like a planning retreat, except Heaven isn't so pathetic as to ever retreat. So it's a planning advance. You have precisely one guess as to who came up with _that_."

There was silence. Then there was an odd sound. She rolled her eyes and waited for Ligur to stop laughing. She didn't laugh at _his_ ridiculous departmental superiors. 

" _As it happens I'm on something similar. It's so_ boring _. I thought if I didn't talk to someone outside the_ bubble _I'd bloody explode. Dagon says things like 'bubble' now, by the way, and doesn't mean a wall of froth blown to confuse underwater prey. I'm stuck on Wall Street – no challenge at all with the locals where sin's concerned. Where are you?_ "

"Romford," Michael sighed. 

" _Fuck it, you might get the better offices, we get the better work trips. I'll get Hastur to cover for me. He can sign me in to everything. Want to meet in person?_ "

The sensible answer was _no_. But that would lead to returning to a hot room and an interminable powerpoint presentation, and no doubt mandatory trust falls where she would be caught one-handed by Gabriel.

"Vienna?"

" _Sure. Rathaus steps, ten minutes."_

The phone went dead. She shouldn't do this. It could be a trap. Or she could find out what Hell was – quite literally – planning. It wasn't like she had much to give in return, but that had never really seemed to matter. Michael raised a hand, called down the lightning, and vanished.

And she wouldn't have to fall into anyone's arms at all.

*It's not like the archangels didn't know what _that_ was a metaphor for. God just laughed whenever anyone mentioned it.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently saw the joyous information on Ask A Manager that some companies have "advances" rather than "retreats" \- this is clearly down to Gabriel.


End file.
